


Nothing Lasts Forever But The Earth And Sky

by LadyShadowphyre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in Purgatory (Supernatural), Dean Winchester in Purgatory, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 07 AU, Priest Sam Winchester, Protective Jim Murphy, Sam Winchester Adopts A Dog, Sam Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Sam Winchester's Hell Trauma, megstiel friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 14:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/pseuds/LadyShadowphyre
Summary: "Sam?"Sam turned and then went still, staring. The priests' frock coat was expected, given the location. The face above the white-notched black collar was not. Sandy brown hair and beard liberally sprinkled with grey, kind blue eyes that had more than their share of lines from both laughter and sorrow, the gentle smile that a terrifying phone call years ago had gripped Sam with the realization that he would never see it again..."Sam Winchester," the man said, his smile growing. "It's good to see you again, son.""...Pastor Jim?"





	Nothing Lasts Forever But The Earth And Sky

**Author's Note:**

> **Written for Sam Winchester Bingo square:** Priest!Sam  
**Written for SPN Song Challenge Bingo square:** "Dust In The Wind" by Kansas  
**Written for Good Things Happen Bingo square:** Friends To Lovers
> 
> More Bingo squares to follow.

**N** EARLY HITTING A dog in Kermit had rattled Sam enough to make him realize that, no matter how futile everything seemed to him, his was not the only life that could be devastated by his recklessness and inattention. It had shaken something loose inside him, something that had been winding tighter and tighter since Dean and Castiel had been killed destroying Dick Roman and sending all the Leviathan back to Purgatory, since Crowley had slipped away with Kevin while Sam was still reeling in shock and grief and the burgeoning claws of a panic attack that had never quite dissipated no matter how far he drove away from SucraCorp and demons and everything else.

He couldn't stop running, not yet, but with the dog in the passenger seat of the Impala and the certain knowledge that his survival was not the only responsibility he had, Sam turned north and drove to the last bastion of hope and faith he still had left, even as damaged as it had become.

Blue Earth, Minnesota, was looking a lot better now than it had when he'd been there last. The buildings had been fixed, the road was repaved, and the town looked perfectly normal on the surface. Sam could still see the scars left behind by the Apocalypse That Wasn't in the faces of the people, however. The way they walked in pairs or groups, never alone, something furtive and frightened in their eyes. The way many of them looked at him, first with suspicion and then a dawning realization; he looked away before he could see their expressions turn to horror. He knew where he was going, and nobody stopped him.

The church that Sam had never stopped thinking of as Pastor Jim's church still stood, had been repaired just the same as the other buildings. There was something dull and dark about the building, however, something...off. Unlived-in, perhaps, despite the most recent notice on the board outside being for that past Sunday. Sam parked the Impala and let the dog (he really should think of a name for it) out to explore before approaching the doors.

There was a paper tacked to the left door of the church. Someone had typed up "Closed for Custody Transferral" and someone else had written in bright red ink,  _ Get lost you pedo! _ Sam stared at it for a long moment, feeling the weight settling into his chest at the implications that he could only imagine, then tugged at the handle of the right-most door where the lock was broken just enough that a good solid yank would let him in. Nobody had thought to fix the lock, it seemed - or perhaps they just didn't think it was worth the bother - and the door opened for him, releasing the musty smell of a church whose doors have not been opened often.

"Hello?" he called, uncertain. The place felt empty on more than just the physical level, except there was something just at the edge of his awareness that made him feel like he was being watched. He slipped a hand into his jacket for the demon-killing knife he still kept despite his very mixed feelings about the demon who had given it to him, and stepped further into the gloom. "Anyone here?"

"Sam?"

Sam turned, as one does when they hear someone say their name, and then went still, staring. The priests' frock coat was expected, given the location. The face above the white-notched black collar was not. Sandy brown hair and beard liberally sprinkled with grey, kind blue eyes that had more than their share of lines from both laughter and sorrow, the gentle smile that a terrifying phone call years ago had gripped Sam with the realization that he would never see it again...

"Sam Winchester," the man said, his smile growing. "It's good to see you again, son."

"Pastor Jim?" Sam whispered, his fingers tightening in reflexive tension around the handle of the knife.

"What's left of me, anyway," Pastor Jim Murphy answered, his smile turning a shade rueful. He lifted one arm and pulled back the sleeve to show the mark on his forearm. "I was raised with the rest of that lot. Fortunately for whichever hunters I might have been sent after, I was raised where I died, here in the church. My wards kept me trapped inside."

"But, we--" Sam stopped himself, flinching. "I mean, Bobby Singer, he knew how to break the spell, lay all the Witnesses to rest! You should have been freed with them!"

"I might have been, if Father Giddeon and that creature masquerading as his daughter had not already taken up residence here," Jim said with a grimace. "Her power locked me in further, kept me suppressed."

"The Whore."

"Sam!"

"Er, sorry, but I, uh, meant it literally," Sam ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "Leah Giddeon was the Whore of Babylon, posing as a false Prophet of the Lord. She was supposed to corrupt the town, get them to do evil in God's name, as part of bringing about the Apocalypse."

"Ah," Jim winced, looking apologetic for reasons Sam couldn't decipher. "Well, her power kept me suppressed enough that I couldn't really tell much of what was going on, just what effect she was having on the townspeople. It's good that you killed her when you did, or things would have been much worse."

"Dean," Sam croaked, then cleared his throat. "Dean killed her. She could only be killed by a true servant of Heaven."

"I'm surprised Dean would qualify," Jim said in such a dry voice that Sam couldn't help the choked, strained laugh that slipped free. "I would have put my money on you, if I was a gambling man."

"Yeah, well," Sam swallowed again, still not quite able to look Pastor Jim in the eye. "Turns out Dean was supposed to be the True Vessel for the Archangel Michael during the Apocalypse, which was close enough as far as killing the Whore was concerned. And, uh, there were other reasons I didn't qualify."

"Sam, what are you doing?" Jim moved closer, frowning, though he halted when Sam took a reflexive step back. "Sam? What happened to your hand?"

Sam looked down at his hand. At first, he couldn't tell what the ghost meant; his hand looked just the same as it had the last several times he had looked at it. Then he saw the way his thumb was digging into the barely healed-over scar across his palm where Dean's stitching had closed the wound but left it jagged enough to leave a permanent mark, and felt heat rush into his face from realization and shame.

"I... a lot has happened since the Apocalypse," he muttered at length, not even sure where to start, or if he should even be telling this ghost of his former pastor. The man had been responsible for instilling faith in God and Heaven in Sam as a child, and it felt wrong to have to be the one to tell his ghost that God didn't care and Heaven and the Angels weren't what they had believed them to be.

"I suppose I'll take your word for it," Jim said with a return of that wry smile, spreading his hands. "Not like I've been able to leave here to see for myself, after all." He frowned. "Where  _ is _ Dean, though? Didn't think he'd want to let you out of his sight, the way he hovered after pulling you out of Stanford."

Sam flinched. He couldn't help it. Time had been that he'd thought Dean wouldn't want to let him out of his sight, either, and then there'd been that fight and the voicemail... and then he'd killed Lilith and freed Lucifer and Dean hadn't killed him like he'd said he would, but he hadn't trusted him and then they'd separated because Sam couldn't take the stress of waiting for Dean to kill him on top of not being able to trust his own instincts anymore, only that hadn't helped either when Tim and Reggie showed up and tried to shove demon blood down his throat and Dean said to pick a hemisphere... and then he'd taken  _ that _ back and had hovered over Sam even more than he had before, but different, like he expected Sam to run off and say Yes to Lucifer at any moment and was only there to keep Sam from doing that instead of really wanting Sam at his back or by his side...

"Sam?" Jim's soft voice broke through his swirling thoughts, much closer than before. He'd approached while Sam had been spiraling and now stood close enough that Sam could feel the cold where he should have felt the warmth of another body. He shivered and moved away towards one of the pews to sit so as not to hurt Jim's feelings that he couldn't be near the ghost, couldn't take that cold feeling right now.

"Dean's dead," he said instead, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. "Again. Heaven's not gonna be resurrecting him like they did last time, Cas... Cas is dead, too, so he won't break the rules to bring Dean back... and we promised we'd stop trying to bring each other back."

"Cas?"

"Castiel. He's, um, he  _ was _ kinda Dean's guardian angel. Pulled him out of Hell after he sold his soul to bring me back from my first death. Pulled me out, too, though he couldn't manage it entirely... not that I blame him at all, really, I mean, it took a whole garrison to get Dean out and when Cas went down for me he went by himself into... someplace worse," Sam grimaced. This wasn't helping. "Uh... you might have felt him before, he was with us when we took out Leah and he still had his Grace then."

"I might have," Jim agreed, looking and sounding thoughtful. "I wasn't able to pick up on specifics too well while I was being suppressed. It took me a while after everything to even realize you and Dean had been and gone.You say he's dead, too? Your angel?"

"Dean's angel," Sam corrected automatically, feeling his stomach twist at the thought of Castiel being his. Impossible now, moreso than it had been when he was still alive. Again. "I dunno, actually... I mean, he's been killed before and God brought him back then, but there's no guarantee that'll happen a third time. For all I know, God brought him back those other times because Dean was still alive and needed him, and with Dean..."

Jim hummed in thought and, when Sam dared to glance up at him, saw that the ghost was looking off to one side towards the door. Sam followed his gaze and saw the dog standing in the doorway, watching them. Sam whistled and patted his leg, and the dog obediently trotted inside towards him, skirting around the ghost with a wary huff to press up against Sam's leg. Sam took a moment to crouch down and pet the dog in reassurance. When he looked up again, apprehensive of Jim's response to all this, the ghost was smiling softly.

"You always did love dogs," he commented when he noticed Sam looking at him. "Seems like you've got a good one here."

"Yeah, uh, he's a real riot," Sam mumbled. "Aren't you, boy?"

The dog barked and wagged his tail as he pressed up against Sam again for more petting.

Jim laughed. "That's alright. It would take a pup with spirit to keep up with you." He crouched down, drawing another wary look from the dog, and said, "You take good care of my boy, Sam, you hear me?"

The dog tilted his head to one side, then barked again. He licked Sam's hand and bounded off to explore the rest of the church. Jim watched him go with that same fond smile, and Sam watched Jim, drinking in the fond and benevolent expression. It was so painfully familiar a sight that Sam could almost delude himself into thinking Jim Murphy was somehow still alive... except for the way the edges of his outline blurred towards the sunlight and how he didn't actually cast any shadow on the floor.

"Pastor Jim?" Sam asked, wincing a little at how loud his voice sounded in the sudden silence. "I don't mean to be rude, but... why are you still here? Are you still trapped, or...?"

"Not exactly trapped anymore, no," Jim admitted. He sighed and moved to sit down in one of the pews, beckoning Sam over to join him. "The wards broke when the Giddeons moved into the parish. They couldn't stand up to  _ her _ and then it was her power keeping me suppressed and trapped. With the... false prophet dead, there was nothing really holding me here anymore. I could have moved on, but... I didn't. Partly because of Father Giddeon's despair, having lost his daughter who wasn't really his daughter, partly because I worried that the negative energy of her having been here, poisoning the church and the town, could do damage."

"Did it?"

"In a way. Father Giddeon left the priesthood and, well, each priest or pastor to come after him has been...."

"Corrupt?" Sam hazarded, remembering the note on the door.

"Yes," Jim winced. "I... may have thrown a bit of a ghostly tantrum over the first one who came. I was surprised it didn't bring hunters looking to salt and burn my bones a second time, but then I heard the girl he was targeting saying prayers of thanks." Jim ducked his head, looking embarrassed. "I know she was thanking God, not me specifically, but it made me think... well..."

"That maybe the town already knows about the supernatural, and that the ghost of a former beloved pastor watching over them to keep them safe in the wake of everything else wasn't so farfetched?" Sam guessed. Jim smiled a little, though it was rueful.

"On the money there. Truth is, I could move on whenever I want, but I don't want to leave the town vulnerable like that. The negative aura won't let a good priest come, and I won't let a bad priest stay. Impasse."

"Yeah," Sam grimaced. "Don't know how I can help with something like that."

"I might have an idea," Jim said, drawing Sam's wary gaze with his speculative tone. "Do you still have those frock coats I gave you and Dean for acting as priests on hunts?"

"You can't seriously be suggesting what I think you're suggesting," Sam managed around the sudden choke of flabbergasted shock.

"Can't I, 'Father Samuel'?" Jim asked, a spark of mischief in his eyes despite the serious set to his expression. "Sam, I honestly can't think of anyone else I would rather trust my parish and flock to than you. You're ordained already-- I ordained you and Dean both when I gave you those collars and frock coats, though I know he never took it seriously. You're knowledgeable about the supernatural and the history of the town, making you better prepared to help the people than anyone new, and you're stubborn enough not to let anyone corrupt the diocese tries to send out here stay or run you off. And--"

"I have demon blood in me!" Sam blurted out, cringing at the way the words rang in the sanctuary. "Azazel, the yellow-eyed demon who killed Mom, he fed me his blood that night. It was part of some stupid elaborate plot to prepare me to be Lucifer's True Vessel for the Apocalypse. I can't... I'm already corrupted, have been since before you knew me, I'm the  _ worst _ choice for taking over a parish--!"

"You're not a pedophile," Jim broke in, dry and implacable. "You're not a rapist. Murder... well, you've killed in the course of hunting, but then, so have I." Jim reached out, and for a moment Sam feared he would feel an icy touch, but the hand that settled over his own was light, weightless, and incredibly  _ warm _ . "Everyone has darkness in them, son. How they deal with that darkness is what's important. You have too much compassion to be heartless. Just ask your dog."

"My dog?"

"No collar, signs of previous neglect slowly healing... You took in that dog, kept him and cared for him, when no one else had."

"I nearly ran him over with the Impala!"

"And if you had hit him, you would have just left him?"

"No!"

"And would you do less for a person, wounded and in pain?"

"No..." Sam flushed at the knowing look Jim shot him. "Okay, I'm not heartless, but--"

"Ah-ah! No buts on that one," Jim shook his head. "You are not heartless. You  _ are _ a good man and, correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem rather adrift without Dean alive and here to anchor you." The ghost spread his hands, gesturing to the walls of the church and the people beyond. "Can you think of a better anchor than to be the good shepherd to this town's twice-shy flock? You've known darkness and evil in far more literal ways than most priests ever come close to. I trust you not to lead your flock astray in the name of God."

Silence descended, broken here and there by the sounds of the dog sniffing around, his nails clicking and skittering across the floor. Man and ghost sat together, side by side, letting the silence and the fragile peace of the parish sanctuary stand. Jim didn't press, and Sam was grateful for it. Be a pastor? Be a priest for real, not just acting as one to get information from victims of the supernatural for a hunt? Be  _ the _ spiritual leader and guide for an entire town of people who had already suffered under the direct machinations of Hell? And it would be the entire town, because all the other churches had been destroyed by the demons in the run up to the Apocalypse, leaving this the only one still standing. How could  _ he, _ the boy with the demon blood, possibly be of any help?

How could he not  _ try _ ?

"I'll need stuff like papers... certificates and things," Sam mumbled. "And I've been legally declared dead a couple of times, separate from the times I  _ actually _ died, so...."

"You'll find everything you need in my office," Jim said, and Sam could hear the smile in the ghost's voice. "You know where to look that no one else has."

"The recessed compartment in the floor under your desk?" Sam guessed, smiling a little when Jim laughed and nodded. "No one ever thinks to look there, do they? They always go for the safe behind the Madonna portrait on the wall."

"When they think to look for a hidden safe at all, anyway," Jim agreed. "Dorothy Peterson has the keys to the office and the private rooms right now, I believe, though there's a spare set in the desk if you'd rather take the expedient route for now."

"Is that your way of telling me you won't be mad if I pick the lock?"

"It's my way of saying that picking the lock will be faster than trying to hunt down Mrs Peterson and convince her to give you the keys before tomorrow morning." When Sam still hesitated, Jim patted his hand and stood. "Come on. I won't just disappear on you before you've got yourself settled in, and I promise to say goodbye first."

"Okay," Sam breathed in, slowly letting it out again as he stood. "Okay."

**P** ASTOR JIM STAYED true to his word, hovering just out of range of Sam being chilled while Sam finessed the lock open with his usual skill. At one point he even spoke softly to the dog, who was pacing with far less patience just out of reach, reassuring him that Sam wouldn't take long and then he could get more petting just as soon as the door was open. Sam was smiling softly by the time the lock clicked and the door swung inwards. He barely managed to set the lock picks down again before the dog practically bowled him over with his enthusiasm for more petting.

"Easy, easy there, boy," Sam chuckled, giving the dog a thorough ear-scratching to the rapid thump of a tail against hardwood. "Settle down now... You're practically a one-pup riot, aren't you, boy?"

"Sounds like a good name for him, wouldn't you say?" Pastor Jim remarked. "That's twice now you've used it to refer to him."

"Yeah?" Sam looked down. "What do you think, boy? Are you a Riot?"

The newly christened Riot barked happily and shouldered his way through the open door into the office to sniff around. Laughing softly, Sam and Pastor Jim followed.

The inside of the office was not very different from the last time Sam remembered seeing it. The walls, which Sam remembered being a soothing pale blue before, were now covered in a pink floral patterned wall paper that Sam made a mental note to strip down and repaint - with additional wards beneath the paint - as soon as possible. When he voiced the plan aloud, it was met with support from Jim and a bark from Riot, which Sam took to mean the dog approved. Sam made a mental note to research pet-safe paints just to be careful.

Despite knowing where he needed to look, Sam still went to the safe behind the portrait of the Virgin Mary with her hands spread in welcome and benediction to see if anything was left behind or if it was cleaned out when one of his predecessors left. The safe was not empty as Sam had feared, but the contents were not entirely what he had hoped either. The folder of papers pertaining to the parish was still there, but the envelope of emergency funds for church repairs was conspicuously absent. Instead, there was a manilla folder labelled "inspirational materials" in an unfamiliar handwriting. Jim gave  _ that _ envelope such a dark look that Sam cautiously opened it to look inside. He shut the envelope in disgust seconds later and made a mental note to salt and burn it as soon as he could get away with.

The hiding spot beneath the desk was something that Sam only knew about because he had helped Jim make it back in the days when he'd been left with the man while Dad and Dean were off somewhere that Sammy was too young to follow. In the dark well of the floor under the desk, they had cut a section of the floorboards away, sanding and sealing the edges to give no sign that there was a cut when it was replaced with fortification. The hinges were small and painted a mottled brown and positioned at the very back where the bottom of the desk met the floor. Two latches to either side held the lid closed, and it opened with a press that activated springs to push it open.

Beneath the door was another safe with a combination lock that Jim had set to Sam's birthday and never changed. It opened for Sam to reveal a much more promising stack of folders full of papers, three more envelopes stuffed full with bills, and a pink teddy bear whose fur had been imperfectly stained brown with spilled coffee. Sam had to swallow against a sudden lump in his throat at the sight of the bear, and he ignored everything else to lift the bear out of the safe, brushing away the accumulated dust. "I thought... I thought Dad threw this away..."

"He did," Jim admitted, speaking in the same soft tones as Sam. "Dean rescued it and sent it to me to keep for you, but then John started taking you along on hunts and..."

"And we didn't come back until I was starting high school," Sam finished, the pads of his fingers smoothing over the threadbare brownish pink plush, still able to remember the bright girly pink of it the first time he had opened it that Christmas Day after Dean had admitted to him what it was Dad really did, could remember Dean "accidentally" spilling the coffee all over the bear to try and make it a "less girly color" even though Sam hadn't cared about the color at all. As if sensing the heavy sadness he was feeling, Riot whined softly and came over to nudge up against Sam's leg. "I cried myself to sleep that night... practically smothering myself to keep from waking Dad and having him yell at me to 'man up' and stop crying over a 'stupid toy'. He didn't understand..."

"I know I'm not one to speak ill of the dead," Jim said, "but since I'm dead myself I think I can be forgiven for saying that there was very little about his sons that John Winchester actually understood, even when he thought he did. He certainly never seemed to know how to actually speak to you about anything important."

"I don't think he really knew what to do with kids, besides treat us like soldiers," Sam mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his wet face. "Any ability to learn how to be a dad instead of a drill sergeant probably died with Mom that night."

"You know that wasn't your fault, Sam," Jim said, drawing a startled look from Sam. The ghost's smile was sad. "You had that guilty look on your face again. Remember what I said before? You are a  _ good man _ , Sam. The machinations of demons are not your fault, not even when they involve you."

"It feels like it is," Sam admitted, staring down at the bear. "So many people dead, just to make sure a daughter of the Campbell bloodline married a son of the Winchester bloodline... so many more dead to try and turn us into Michael and Lucifer's echoes on Earth... If I hadn't been born and fulfilled the requirements for the True Vessels of Michael and Lucifer being Dean and me...."

"Then in another universe somewhere it may well have been someone else tapped," Jim said firmly. "It's still on them for pushing to set everything in motion using you and Dean. I haven't heard anything that would counter that, or would make me believe that my faith in you is somehow misplaced."

"Faith," Sam sighed, rocking back on his heels and letting the bear drop to the floor beside him. "My faith isn't exactly what it used to be, you know? I mean, I don't exactly  _ believe _ anymore... I  _ know. _ I've met demons and angels. The demons alternated between seeing me as an enemy and seeing me as their potential new king, and just about all the angels have looked at me as if I was already a demon spawned from Hell. I've died more than once and been to both Heaven and Hell, and  _ both _ have left scars on my soul."

"Should I be asking my Reaper for a third option?"

"No, I... you should be fine in Heaven, when you get back up there. Humans are mostly left alone in their own personal pockets of Heaven reliving their best memories, though I think Ash might be making real progress hacking a bunch of back doors into various pockets to make a hunters' network up there."

"Easy, Sam, I was joking," Jim smiled when Sam looked up. "I do remember having been in Heaven before. In fact, most of the memories I found myself reliving involved you."

"Me?" Sam stared at the ghost, certain that he couldn't have heard that right. "But... why?"

"Vows of celibacy are not necessarily required of a simple Pastor, but I did take them," Jim remarked, a little dryly. "And unlike certain of your predecessors here, I have never broken them, either. I know I never said as much to you, certainly not where John could overhear, but having you and occasionally Dean running around here was the closest I've ever come to having children of my own. And I could not be more proud of how you've grown up."

"You sure you're not just saying that so I'll take over the parish for you?" Sam joked weakly, ducking his head so that his hair fell in front of his face. He couldn't see the ghost anymore, but he heard the tsking sound Jim made.

"I wasn't in the habit of lying to you to make you feel better when I was alive, and I'm not about to start now that I'm dead," Jim told him. "If you really don't want to, I won't push it, but you should still look through those papers in there and take the most relevant ones and the money with you."

_ The papers? _ Sam blinked and reached into the safe, pulling out the top-most folder and flipping it open. His jaw dropped. There, right on top, was a copy of Dean's birth certificate. Sam traced the words that spelled out the names of their mother and father and the hospital Dean had been born at, then turned the page over. The next thing was a set of medical records, including immunizations, and beneath that was a patchwork school history. Sam swallowed a laugh at the evidence that Dean tested well above average for his age and grade, but never bothered to try with the homework, leading to him barely passing his classes until the school records stopped midway through his senior year. Behind that was a copy of Dean's official-looking Certificate of Ordination and several other papers that covered a variety of aliases, some of which Sam recognized and a couple he didn't. That was the end of that folder, so Sam closed it and set it aside before reaching for the next.

This one turned out to have his own birth certificate right on top, and Sam stared at it for a long time. He'd been smaller than Dean when he was born, only five pounds and three ounces where Dean had been (he checked the other folder quickly) seven pounds and four ounces. Sam choked on another laugh as he remembered how disgruntled Dean had gotten the last few years after they reunited and it turned out Sam was a solid three and a half inches taller than him now. He swallowed it back and turned to the next pages before he could let himself dwell on the fact that he would never see that disgruntled look again.

Unlike Dean's folder, the next page wasn't his medical records, but a letter from Missouri Moseley. Sam skimmed the first paragraph where Missouri identified herself as a psychic and established her connection to John Winchester and his sons, Dean and Sam, and then turned the page over. He could read the letter properly if Jim and Missouri both thought he needed to, but it felt a little too much like invading their privacy to do it now. The next couple of pages were also letters from Missouri, so Sam skipped them as well. When he reached his medical records, he paused, frowning. He'd apparently missed two years' worth of appointments and had needed to play vaccination catch-up all at once when he was three. Sam winced; that couldn't have been fun, not that he really remembered it.

Behind the medical records was the start of his school records. Like his medical records, they started late. Indicating that he'd been enrolled in kindergarten when he was already six. There was a note in his file indicating that the teacher recommended jumping him up to second grade, but that hadn't happened. His school record was just as patchwork as Dean's, though he had better grades because he made more of an effort on completing and turning in his homework. He found a note in one of his report cards that praised his intelligence and spelled out how glad the teacher was to see Sam making a proper effort towards his education, and the "unlike Dean" was nearly audible despite it not appearing in print. Sam scowled - his brother was plenty smart, they just had different priorities! - and turned the page a little more vigorously than before. He almost wished he had been more careful, though, because the next paper wasn't a neat eleven by eight-point-five printout, but a newspaper clipping. Sam stared for a long moment at the bold headline announcing the regional high school soccer championships for Forsythe County before it even registered that his name was printed beneath the picture of the uniformed team, or that the skinny kid with dark hair flopping into his sun-squinted eyes was really him.

"John clipped that out and sent it to me," Jim said from behind Sam, startling him. "He was very proud of you, even as terrified as he was of your name and picture being in a local newspaper like that. He was always trying to keep a low profile, more than any other hunter, though he never really explained why."

"He moved us not long after that game," Sam mumbled, clearing his throat when his voice came out thick and strained. "I never got it, either, at the time, but... when Lucifer had me, he showed me all the different people Azazel had arranged to be possessed in order to track me, to keep an eye on me even with his blood in me acting as a homing beacon to find me whenever he wanted."

"It isn't paranoia if they really are out to get you?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Go ahead and look at the rest."

Sam did as Jim suggested, carefully lifting away the news clipping to see the letter from his senior year guidance counselor. He skimmed it, too, raising his eyebrows at how the woman expressed her frustration at having tried multiple times to reach Sam's Dad before contacting Jim as the secondary emergency contact and her insistence that Sam could easily get into any college he wanted to apply for but "his father refuses to even meet with me". Knowing John's paranoia, Sam wasn't surprised, but it still stung. The next page was another, longer letter comprised mainly of scholarship options and schools that supported those scholarships along with the application requirements. Beneath that was his high school diploma, and beneath that....

"You kept them?"

"Every one,"

There were six in total. Six acceptance letters, arranged in order of scholarship coverage, with a copy of the acceptance letter to Stanford with its full ride scholarship as the last. Then there was a letter that Sam remembered writing, telling Pastor Jim that he'd arrived at Stanford but that he'd had a nasty row with his Dad and was no longer on speaking terms with him. Behind that was a letter from John that made Sam stare in shock. In it, John said that he knew Jim had helped Sam put together those applications, had ranted about how dangerous it was for Sam to be tied down in one place where "they" could come after him at any point, and ended with an admission that John was so incredibly proud of Sam "doing better than his old man, getting into a fancy school like that", and imploring Jim to keep him updated on Sam's health and progress since he didn't dare go himself lest "they" follow him there and find Sam all the sooner.

"He was... proud of me?"

"He was."

"He never said... never even hinted!"

"He was much more verbose when bragging about you and Dean to others than he was apparently able to express to you in person."

"We butted heads so much, I used to wonder if he even liked me. And that fight... it was bad, and then we didn't talk for years until we ran into him in Chicago and he acted like the fight wasn't a big deal, like he hadn't told me that if I walked out that door I shouldn't bother ever coming back...."

"Winchester stubbornness. Your brother inherited his fair share of it, but you and John were very much alike in just the right ways to make your differences rub the wrong way." Jim was silent for a moment, then added softly, "The one time he got drunk in my presence, he admitted that you were a lot like your mother. You two fought the way they fought sometimes."

"Might've been nice if he'd ever told me that," Sam sighed without any real rancor. "He never did, barely even spoke of her at all, and Dean followed suit. I barely remembered what she looked like and knew next to nothing about her until Castiel sent us back in time to prevent another angel from stopping our being born."

There was a moment of silence. "Wanna run that one by me again?"

"It's a long story," Sam grimaced, running a hand back through his hair. "Anna wasn't trying to be mean or personal about stopping us from existing, she just honestly thought that our not existing would stop the Apocalypse from happening. It didn't - Michael took Dad as a vessel and killed Anna, then wiped Dad and Mom's memories of the whole thing so they wouldn't remember even meeting me and Dean or our warnings about what was coming - but I don't blame her for trying whatever she could think of to stop the Apocalypse from happening, even if it meant me never existing."

"Well," Jim said, sounding rather stunned. "You did say that a lot had happened, though I can't say I'm sorry she failed in her mission to keep you from being born. Apocalypse included."

Sam shook his head and looked back down at the file. He had a feeling that Pastor Jim would be just as stubborn as Dean and Bobby had been about that subject. Neither of them had wanted to even listen long enough to hear the logic behind Anna's plan. Even Castiel had disagreed, though he had never offered an explanation as to why beyond saying that Anna did not have enough of the facts to make a truly informed logical decision. Swallowing down the lump in his throat at the thought of Castiel, Sam turned the page.

The rest of the papers were a mixed collection of official communications from Stanford and Sam's own letters back. Sam winced in guilt when he noticed his own letters tapering off to nothing as the reports from Stanford continued on, detailing his courses each quarter and the grades he received along with copies of his final papers for several of his classes. He noted the sudden drop in his grades, which fit with the time Dean had showed up at Stanford and they'd had their own spectacular row that had ended with Dean storming off and leaving Sam simmering followed by apologetic and then devastated when he'd tried to call Dean to apologize and found the number disconnected in yet another round of Winchester Phone Roulette where Sam was completely excluded for the first time. He had needed to take incompletes for all of the classes that quarter, and the next quarter's report card showed the renewed determination he'd felt in finishing his classes with high grades. There was even a copy of his undergraduate degree, issued several months behind his yearmates at the end of the fall quarter and a hardcopy notice of his scheduled interview for the Board of Stanford Law. The last paper in the folder was a letter from the Board dated December first of 2005 offering condolences for his loss and advising him that he would need to reschedule his interview and retest when he returned from his grieving period sabbatical.

Sam stared down at the letter until it blurred before his eyes, the impersonal words doing nothing to soften the way it ripped at the wound that had never had a chance to fully heal, only be temporarily patched over time after time until it had been buried under all the other many hundreds of wounds like a thousand papercuts that had nearly killed him several times over in Lucifer's clutches in the Cage and after when his Wall broke. Castiel had taken on Sam's pain from his time in the Cage and very nearly been destroyed by it, but this pain, buried so far beneath the rest, was one he couldn't take on. Sam would never have asked him to.

"I didn't want to ask when I saw you then, but I did wonder," Jim said, his voice low.

"Her name was Jess," Sam said, reaching up to scrub at his blurry eyes and blinking when his fingers came away wet. "She was... God, she was everything to me those last two years. Best friend, study partner, occasional taskmaster and cheerleader, girlfriend... I was going to ask her to marry me, bring her out here to Blue Earth and have you perform the ceremony over whichever Break we decided would be the best time...."

"What happened, son?"

"Azazel happened," Sam nearly bit out, pain mixing with anger as he scrubbed harder at his eyes. "Or his lackey did. He had a demon possess my other best friend, Brady, and that demon killed her. Waited until Dean came to get me on Halloween of all nights to try and find Dad, until I'd gotten back home two days later, just in time to get a good night's sleep before my law school interview that Monday... and he... he...."

"He pinned her to the ceiling, cut her across the stomach, and set her on fire?" Jim asked softly, sadly, and entirely too knowingly. "Another bit of that drunken confession I got out of John that one time. That would have been the night of November second, wasn't it. The same night as...."

"As Mom," Sam confirmed in a hoarse whisper, sniffing back the thickness in his head. There was a soft thunk next to him, and he looked up to see a tissue box on the floor. Riot's paws were up on the desk, but they dropped when Sam looked at him, and he nudged the box towards Sam with his nose, whining. "How...?"

"I got his attention, then pointed at the box and then pointed to you," Jim answered. He had a look on his face that made Sam think he was cursing his incorporeal state.

"Thanks," he mumbled, taking a tissue and mopping his eyes before blowing his nose.

"Do you want to stop for now?"

"What's the rest?"

"The next folder is full of various paper trails and alibi records that put you here in Blue Earth every time you or Dean got arrested up until my death, and the last is as much information as I could gather on Stanford Law's online course options," Jim told him. "You don't need to look through it now if you need a break."

"Yeah... a break would probably be a good idea," Sam muttered, blowing his nose again and petting a still whining Riot. "I... should I try and find a hotel, or....?"

"The apartment behind the parish is still furnished, and it's been cleaned since the last resident," Jim assured him. "The bed may need fresh linens, though, and you'll want to bring your bags in so you have clothes and toiletries, but you can stay here."

"What about Riot?"

"He can stay, too, of course. I wouldn't dream of separating you."

"No, I..." Sam trailed off and huffed a half-hearted laugh, scrubbing a hand down over his face. "I guess I need to see about getting groceries and dog food to keep here, too, huh? If we're going to be living here."

"You'll stay?" Jim asked, looking surprised. "I thought you wanted to think it over."

"I can think it over while getting food for us and see how I feel about it in the morning after I get some sleep." At least, Sam hoped he could get sleep tonight. Nightmares were a frequent occurrence for years, and they'd only gotten worse since Dean and Castiel had been killed. "D'you know if the old grocery store is still standing?"

"I don't know," Jim admitted. "The parish still has internet access, though, so you can probably look it up."

"And you'll be here when we get back?"

"I'm not going anywhere yet, Sam. I'll be here."

**T** HE GROCERY STORE that Sam remembered was not still standing, but another one had been rebuilt on the same site. Sam left the rear windows half-down for Riot while he went in, and he politely accepted the recommendation for a good brand of healthy dog food from the elderly woman in the pet aisle. The cashier made smalltalk with him while he rang up Sam's store brand instant rice, bag of lentils and instant soup mixes, a handful of fresh vegetables and a couple of apples, and some instant coffee. The dog food made the man's eyebrows raise, but he rang it up just the same and gave Sam the total, accepting the cash he used to pay without question.

"Not a lot of hotels 'round here allow dogs," the cashier said as he and Sam packed up the groceries into paper bags. Sam gave him a noncommittal hum and wished him a good rest of the day before carrying the bags out to the car. He loaded them into the trunk of the Impala over the false bottom that concealed the brothers' cache of weapons and gave Riot another ear-scratch on his way to the driver's seat.

Despite having the fruits and vegetables in the car, Sam took the long way back to the parish, looking around the town. Everywhere, there were signs of old destruction from the demon attacks, but as Sam drove through the streets he also noticed the signs of rebuilding, of people picking up and moving on with their lives. Here and there he even caught sight of one or two unusually patterned welcome mats that looked rather like Devil's Traps and found himself making a note to come around again to check that they were made correctly, maybe even find who was making them and give them a few more wards to incorporate.... He shook his head at himself. Time moved on, people learned and adapted and carried on being people.

The church was less deserted when he finally pulled back into the parking lot. A light blue Buick le Sabre that looked like it hadn't seen a new paint job since it rolled off the factory line in 1997 sat prominently in one of the parking spaces near the front of the church. Remembering the note on the doors and Pastor Jim's mention of Mrs Peterson having the main keys to the church, Sam made a bit of a show of parking around the back where the door directly to the living quarters was located. He let Riot out first and then retrieved the spare keys Jim had told him to take to very obviously unlock the door, then popped the trunk of the Impala and retrieved his duffel bag, the plastic bag with Riot's food and water dishes, and the bags of groceries and dog food.

No one hailed him on his way in, so Sam gave a mental shrug and prepared himself for meeting whoever it was inside, hoping that Pastor Jim was safe. He hadn't thought to ask how much contact the ghost had with his former parishioners, Mrs Peterson in particular, and now that he was thinking about it he couldn't help worrying. Most people in his experience didn't react well to ghosts, though at least only the hunters would think to shoot him full of rock salt.

He set groceries and dog food on the counter in the kitchen and carried his duffel bag into the...  _ Right, nobody here but me, _ he thought as he altered his course mid-step and headed for the master bedroom, not exactly enthusiastic to face whatever changes had been made to it since Pastor Jim had been alive, but better able to face that than whatever had become of the guest room and the two twin beds Sam and Dean had once used.

The room was not much different from what he remembered, barring the absence of the photographs Pastor Jim had once hung on his walls. The bed was stripped of linens, too, just as Jim had said. Sam dropped his duffel at the foot of the bed and shrugged out of his jacket, laying it across the bare mattress as a silent promise to return and put proper sheets on it before nightfall, then returned to the kitchen to set up Riot's food and water and begin putting away the groceries.

He found Riot standing at the door into the church, ears laid back and hackles up, growling at an older woman in a pink knit sweater who was still holding up the key she had used to open the door.

"Riot, stand down!" Sam called, sending up a silent prayer that the dog wouldn't argue. To his relief, Riot reacted to his voice immediately and turned away from the woman, trotting over to him and wagging his tail. Sam dropped to one knee and gave Riot the requested praise and petting - he'd answered to his new name and come when called, that was definitely worth some ear-scratching! - and then looked up at the woman with a raised eyebrow. "Sorry about that, he's kinda protective. Mrs Peterson, I presume? I wasn't expecting to meet with you until tomorrow."

"Yes, that's me. Sheriff saw a strange car parked out front and gave me a ring," the woman, Mrs Peterson said, looking between Riot and Sam with pursed lips. "I came over to make sure it wasn't some young punk breaking in to steal the Communion chalice."

"Has that been a concern?" Sam asked, frowning. Pastor Jim had mentioned the corrupt priests, but he hadn't said anything about break-ins or thefts.

"Not 'til today," Mrs Peterson gave him a pointed look that puzzled Sam until he realized that she was implying  _ he _ was breaking in to steal the chalice. He reached over to the counter where he had dropped the keys and held them up.

"Didn't see any sign of forced entry when I arrived," he said as she narrowed her eyes behind her glasses. "The lock on the main doors doesn't seem to latch right, though. Riot's a good enough guard dog that I figured calling the locksmith to come in and give it a look could wait until tomorrow after we spoke."

"Hmph," Mrs Peterson folded her arms. "That's the second time you've mentioned expecting to talk to me tomorrow, yet here I am and you've not yet seen fit to introduce yourself properly."

"I don't know what name or specifics you might have been given for me already," Sam hedged, wishing he'd thought to decide that, at least, before going out for groceries.

"I didn't tell her anything yet," Pastor Jim answered, gliding through the wall and raising his eyebrows at the apparent standoff. "I usually wait until she'd had her own look-around before coming out to update her from my end of things. Good evening, Dorothy."

"Don't you 'good evening' me," Mrs Peterson snapped. "You darn well could have let me know this hoodlum and his dog were here with your blessing when I first arrived!"

"Sam isn't a hoodlum, Dorothy," Jim rebuked her gently. "He's my son."

"Informal adoption, not blood related," Sam clarified when the woman looked between them skeptically. "Pastor Jim looked after me and my brother when our Dad couldn't. We used to move around so much that without him I probably wouldn't have been able to go to college, much less get into Stanford."

"Oh!" Mrs Peterson exclaimed, eyes widening as her expression cleared. "You're little Sammy Winchester! My goodness, I haven't seen you since you were younger than my grandchildren!" She looked him up and down as Sam gaped at her, his face heating. "Not so little anymore, either, are you? Pastor Jim used to tell me all about how you were doing when we'd talk on Sundays, at least until he died."

"It became a bit difficult for me to get updates I could pass on after that, I'm afraid," Jim said dryly, earning himself a finger-wagging from Mrs Peterson.

"Don't you sass me, young man!" she told the ghost. "I'm not so far off from being dead myself that I won't remember this!"

"I should hope you'll have better things to think about then than a little cheek from one already gone before you," Pastor Jim smirked. "Especially if we finally have a decent priest to take over here."

Mrs Peterson narrowed her eyes at Jim, then turned her head to look at Sam again with a different sort of measuring gaze.

"I haven't decided either way yet, but he did ask," Sam found himself saying, ducking his head. "It's been so long since I lived here and, well, the last time I visited...."

"There were demons running loose everywhere?" Mrs Peterson guessed, with a shrewd look.

"Yes, ma'am," Sam said, wincing. "I got a look at the town when I was out, saw the rebuilding, but... I don't know what the town is really going to need from its priest from here on out, or if I can even provide it."

"And while I think he's more than capable, it's still his choice," Jim added.

Mrs Peterson looked back and forth between them, then gave an annoyed sounding huff, though she was smiling a little as she said, "Well, it's no wonder you wanted to talk to me, then. Goodness knows I've got a list of what this town needs in its priest, and you can be sure I let each person coming through here know it!" She sighed. "I rather liked Father Giddeon, bless his heart. The man tried his best, and that's really all that could be expected of anyone."

"Why don't you come in and sit down, and I'll make some coffee?" Sam offered, moving to finish unpacking the groceries. "I'd planned to stay a few days to fix the place up a bit even if I don't end up staying on for good, so we could start there at least."

"Your dog won't make a fuss if I do?" Mrs Peterson raised her eyebrows. "Riot, was it?"

"He's too full of energy to be called anything else," Sam answered with a shrug. "Riot, friend."

Riot barked and wagged his tail, then wagged it even harder when he saw that Sam was setting up his dishes against the wall, bouncing around Sam's legs until food and water were on the floor and he set to with gusto. Sam chuckled, and was surprised to hear Mrs Peterson echo him.

"Good enough," she said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "But don't be using that instant stuff I see on the counter! There's proper grounds in the cabinet left of the sink for making coffee that's better fit to be drinking!"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam answered, opening the indicated cabinet.

"Call me Dorothy, Sam, dear. Any family of Jim Murphy's is family of mine."

**M** RS PETERSON STAYED to chat for a little over an hour, drinking coffee and occasionally petting Riot as she told Sam about the last six priests who had been sent to Blue Earth after Father Giddeon left and what had been discovered about each one in addition to the most recent pedophile. Mrs Peterson ("Dorothy," she insisted) had looked approving when Sam mentioned having found a folder left behind by the last fellow, favoring his intent to burn it.

"Whatever mercy God has for people like that is about all he can expect now," she said with a matter-of-fact air, "and it won't do his victims any good to have it brought to light now after the fact."

At one point, Sam had complimented her on her sweater, which it had taken him a bit to realize was hand-made, and asked her where she got her yarn. This led to a lengthy discussion of yarn shops versus ordering online, and an admission from Sam that he'd learned to knit from a friend at Stanford, though he was somewhat out of practice. When Mrs Peterson mentioned that there had used to be a church knitting circle for making baby hats and blankets for the hospital and hats and scarves for the local shelters, Sam agreed that it sounded like a good thing to get started back up again. Mrs Peterson had inquired if he would join them if it did, and looked very pleased with his answer that he would be glad to join them if he stayed on and she thought he'd be welcome.

"You sure you aren't decided yet about staying?" Jim asked after they had both waved her goodbye to go home to her cats and call the sheriff to let him know everything was alright. "She seems convinced you're right for the job."

"She doesn't know me very well," Sam pointed out, hunching his shoulders as he cleaned up the coffee mugs. "All she remembers is a little kid running around with his big brother to hide behind and whatever you've told her since then. A lot's changed and, well, she doesn't know the things I've done, or that the demons that ran loose in her town were my fault...."

"As well she shouldn't, since those demons running loose weren't your fault," Jim said. "They were the fault of the demons and angels who were actively pushing for the Apocalypse to happen. You didn't set them loose--"

"You don't know that!" Sam burst out, hands clenching into fists. "Hell, I can't even be sure of that! For all either of us knows, those demons could have been part of the demon army whoever won Azazel's freaky psychic Battle Royale was meant to set free and lead as they ravaged the Earth!"

" _ Were _ you the one to set them free?"

"No, uh... that was Jake," Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. "I knocked him out rather than kill him and then he stabbed me in the back when I was distracted by Dean and Bobby, uh, Bobby Singer breaking through the demons surrounding Cold Oak."

"Maybe you should start at the beginning," Jim suggested, coming to mime leaning against the counter beside Sam. "Start with what you meant about 'Azazel's freaky psychic Battle Royale'."

So Sam explained about the "Special Children", the hundred or so psychics all in the same generation as Sam who had been fed Azazel's blood when they were six months old. How they had tracked other kids by the fires in their nurseries that killed their mothers at first, and then found others by their powers, how Azazel had begun creating a second generation of Special Children, how they had very nearly been able to kill Azazel when he came to the nursery of a little girl who had already displayed psychic ability. He told Pastor Jim about Max Miller, abused by his father and so painfully angry, whose manifesting powers nearly had him become a killer. He spoke of Andy Gallagher and Ansem Weems, twins separated at six months old by adoption when their birth mother was murdered.

He spoke of Ava Wilson, how nice she had been and how clever when she helped him save Dean from the psycho hunter Gordon Walker who was going around killing psychic kids now instead of just vampires, and how quickly she had gone evil in Cold Oak, giving in to the pull of darkness from Azazel's blood. He touched briefly on Lily Baker, terrified of her powers of electric touch and killed by Ava's controlled Acheri demon, of Andy using his powers to boost Sam's in order to get a message to Dean via psychic vision before Ava killed him too, of Azazel walking their dreams and telling Sam what he had done and what was to be expected of the last one standing, and of Jake killing Ava to save Sam.

Haltingly, Sam recounted how, with just two of them left and Azazel having whispered dire threats to Jake's family into his mind, Jake had pressed the fight, had tried his best to kill Sam with his super strength or make Sam kill him, and how he had run off to take the Colt and open the Devil's Gate in Wyoming while Sam died in Dean's arms, and how Dean had sold his soul to Hell to bring Sam back, getting only a year before he was dragged to Hell and the racks, rescued by angels only after he had broken the First Seal on the Cage holding Lucifer. He explained about the Devil's Gate, about the Colt being the key, and about how Jake had opened it and an unknown number of demons had managed to escape before they could shut it again.

On a roll now that he had begun speaking, Sam went on to explain his desperation to save Dean from his deal once he found out what Dean had done. How a month before Dean's deal was up, what he had thought was a Trickster stuck them in a time loop and made Sam relive Dean's death over and over and over again until he let them go and Dean died again the next day. How Sam had spent six months tracking the Trickster with a single-minded determination to the point where he no longer recognized himself, only to find the Trickster back in that damned Mystery Spot. How Sam had begged and pleaded with the Trickster to just give Dean back, and how the Trickster had tried to get Sam to see that his determination to save Dean would only lead to ruin, to "blood and pain", and Sam had been too far gone to listen. How the Trickster had given up and reset time to that Wednesday that let Sam save Dean from the gunman in the parking lot, and how he had been destroyed all over again when Dean died for real, ripped apart by Hellhounds with Lilith laughing over his corpse.

From there it was easier to speak of Ruby, the demon who had tricked and manipulated him, winning his trust over months and even saving his life while Dean was dead. How she had taken him, drunk and suicidal, and had refocused his pain into a desire for vengeance against Lilith. How she had started training him to use the powers Azazel had given him, first to exorcise demons without killing the meatsuit, and then to kill the demons once they were pulled free. He spoke of how she had introduced him to the idea of drinking her blood as an amplifier, how the drinking of demon blood became like a drug, how she had strung him along on his growing addiction to it while assuring him that training his powers and drinking her blood to become strong enough to kill Lilith was good and right. He choked on explaining the way the angels, Castiel and Uriel in particular, had shaken his faith in Heaven and continued to drive a wedge between him and Dean, how Dean had found out about the demon blood and had locked him in the panic room in Bobby's basement to get clean cold turkey and how it had nearly killed him, how the blood and his powers had combined into nasty hallucinations that pushed him further over the edge until something, probably an angel, had let him out at just the right time to fight with Dean and run off to find Ruby and her solid plan to kill Lilith to the sound of Dean yelling their Dad's ultimatum at his back.

Sam's throat was sore and strained as he explained about the plan to kill Lilith, about killing Cindy to get the blood the demon possessing her had tainted with sulphur. How he had doubted the plan, only to receive a voicemail from Dean that called him a monster, a blood-sucking freak, and said that their Dad had told him to save him or kill him, and that he was done trying to save him. How he had only learned much later by way of a true Prophet of the Lord that the message was bullshit, an angel's trick to push him over the edge, and how well it had worked. Softly, he told Pastor Jim about how Castiel had been taken to Heaven and put through reeducation when his own doubts in Heaven's plans had become too great to be allowed unchecked, and how he had eventually broken free of the brainwashing too late to stop Sam from killing Lilith and breaking the Final Seal, setting Lucifer free and starting the Apocalypse. How he had waited for weeks for Dean to "remember" to kill him until a run-in with War had shaken Sam too badly to continue hunting beside a brother who already didn't trust him. How he had shoved what little remnants of his powers remained down as far as he could and had done his best to pretend they didn't exist until the only plan any of them could come up with to stop the Apocalypse was to have Sam supercharge his powers with as much demon blood as he could and let Lucifer possess him, then wrestle control away from the Fallen Archangel and jump bodily into the Cage, dragging the Devil down with him, and how in the end his powers hadn't been what allowed him to win, but Dean and his love for his brother that had let him break through to drag Lucifer down into Hell and Michael with them.

From there, he touched on his time in Hell and the resultant damage to his soul, the Wall Death had put up between him and his memories of Hell when the Horseman brought his soul out of the Cage to be reunited with the body Castiel had already retrieved. Explaining how the Wall got broken and the resultant slow descent into madness as the hallucinations began again and increased far beyond what he had been through on demon blood detox had him hunching in on himself even further than before until he had to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital. He was nearly crying when he explained how Castiel had come, had stopped the demon in the hospital from torturing him, and had taken on Sam's pain at the expense of his own sanity.

By the time he finished speaking, his throat felt raw and he was slumped on the floor against the lower kitchen cabinets, Riot's head on his right leg and his left slowly losing feeling. A glance at the clock made him wince - it was  _ very _ late - and shift to try and return circulation to his leg, setting off pins and needles while he awaited Pastor Jim's judgement. When it came, it wasn't what he expected.

"I have never wished so much to be alive again than I do now so I could hug you, son," Jim said softly. Startled, Sam looked up at where the ghost sat beside Sam on the floor. Jim looked back, his face sad and eyes full of compassion. "Still haven't heard anything to change my mind about you being a good man."

"But... the demon blood...."

"You've made mistakes, yes, just like any human does. And you've owned up to them, asked forgiveness, and worked to fix those mistakes, which is more than many people try. You've forgiven others for the mistakes they've made that have directly impacted you, so why do you cling to the guilt over actions performed by others?"

"So many people got hurt... died...."

"And so many others saved," Jim swept his hand around the room, encompassing the church and the town beyond. "You may not have been the one to deal the fatal blow on Leah Giddeon, but you are still the man who took on the Devil and won, jumping into Hell to save the world from being razed by the battle of two brothers who couldn't see any other path but war to solve their conflicts. You  _ saved _ the  _ whole world _ , Sam. You need to forgive yourself for the mistake of accidentally helping to start the end of it by killing a demon everyone was telling you needed to die."

"I still should've..."

"I really don't see how you  _ could _ ," Jim quirked an eyebrow upwards. "Though if you won't take my word for it, I hear there are worse ways to atone for mistakes than to devote your life to service of God and community."

"I don't know why you still think I can do this," Sam whispered, his eyes dropping to Riot and only just then noticing that the dog had fallen asleep with his head on Sam's knee and Sam's hand stroking his head. "It feels like every time I try to do the right thing, I choose wrong. How am I supposed to tell others how to live good lives the way they should when I can't even keep my own life together?" 

"You know the hardest thing any priest has to learn about leading a congregation?" Jim asked, shooting Sam a rueful little smile. "It's not about you, not really. It's about what they believe, what they need to keep going when times get tough. It's okay if you feel like you've broken all the rules and shouldn't be telling others to live by them. Don't give them instructions and rules, give them guidelines and choices. Show them the good, warn them about the bad, and let them figure the rest of it out for themselves. Even if you never find faith for yourself in God and Heaven again, you can still help people continue being people."

"Team Free Will," Sam sighed, smiling a little when Riot huffed a muffled bark in his sleep.

"Good place to start," Jim agreed. "Another good place to start? Getting yourself some dinner and a good night's sleep."

"Things will look brighter in the morning?" Sam teased, gently easing his leg out from under Riot's head to avoid waking the dog. It didn't work. Riot started awake the moment the heat from Sam's leg disappeared, looking up at Sam and wagging his tail.

"Maybe, maybe not," Jim teased back, "but at least you'll have a full belly and a night's rest to keep you going!"

"Fair enough," Sam chuckled and got up to find the sheets for the bed, Riot dancing at his heels. Sheets he could do. Dinner he could do. Sleep... well, he could certainly try.

He could figure out the rest tomorrow.


End file.
